


We Only Part to Meet Again

by KenrakenOkwaho



Series: Time Long Past [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Depression, Dreams, Feels, First Kiss, I Don't Even Know, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Male Slash, No Smut, One Shot, Out of Character, Post-Assassin's Creed III, Slash, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, a poor one tho, maybe? - Freeform, you be the judge - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-08 18:46:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13464309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KenrakenOkwaho/pseuds/KenrakenOkwaho
Summary: Losing someone you love is never easy. Losing them without even accepting that you love them is even worse. Shaun knows this all too well."Like the ghost of a dear friend deadIs time long past.A tone which is now forever fled,A hope which is now forever past,A love so sweet it could not last,Was time long past."





	We Only Part to Meet Again

**Author's Note:**

> I really have nothing more to say about this besides: I wrote it. End of story :)))
> 
> Enjoy and please be kind and give me some feedback! Hugs!

"So I reckon... Well, I can't apologise to him, but I can, I don't know... I can try and live up to his example... I... I..."

 

"Loved him."

 

His reaction is not as instant as it should have been, but then again, he is a trained Assassin, he already sensed a presence lurking in the shadows. Still, this does not mean he wasn't startled by the sudden intrusion of Galina's heavily accented voice. What's worse, her words teared open a deep, old wound he's been struggling to keep closed ever since that dreadful day... the day something inside him snapped and everything fell apart, leaving him helpless and broken underneath the facade he built up to keep the pain away. Now, more than ever, the reality of a feeling he's been refusing to acknowledge for so, so bloody long, hits him with its crushing weight and he feels trapped. Trapped between the possibility of spiraling down the path of self-destruction through confessional conversation and the complete deflection of his heart's matters.

 

Her smile is as radiant as he remembers, full of life despite the tragedy that is her life, brimming with reassurance for those souls kindred to his, lost and wandering in dark abysses of grief and agony.

 

"Hello. It has been too long."

 

It doesn't take long to make a decision, finally choosing what has always been, in his eyes, 'the coward's way out'.

 

"Galina! Blimey. I have not seen you since we blew up that lab in Paris!"

 

They both know what he's doing, but, fortunately for him, she's feeling indulgent enough to let his poor attempt at changing the subject slide. He's glad for it.

 

"Daaa. There were many explosions and you screamed like a baby."

 

From there, the world becomes a blur, his eyes trying to keep their focus on the talking Russian. They fail. She knows. She knows and the pitifully sympathetic look on her face makes a wave of latent anger bubble to the surface, blood thrumming like fire through his veins.

 

"Rest. We have a big fight coming."

 

As quickly as it came, his fury is gone, replaced by a familiar emptiness he is so tired of harbouring... every second... every minute... every day. He takes comfort in the somewhat motherly tone of her voice, dragging his feet to the makeshift bed he hates, yet craves to lay down on each night.

 

◇◇◇

 

_Darkness, only darkness, cold and numb everywhere around him, deadly, yet soothing in a way solely his dreams can be._

 

_" He-... -sa mat-... -u... -l... -a... -r?"_

 

_What!? Who's there? Are his dreams tainted now too? Can't he hide anywhere anymore?_

 

_Again._

_  
_

_"He-... was-... -a m... -ta y-... Al-...?"_

 

_Wait... that voice... he **knows** that voice._

 

_The world spins suddenly as brown eyes snap open, rays of light blinding him as they cascade over his body, warm and tranquil while he's slowly rising to his feet._

 

_"Hey, wassa matta you, Altaïr?"_

 

_This time, the echo is closer, almost part of his whole being as it bounces off the walls he recognises belong to the very Sanctuary under Villa Auditore. Ah, memories... melancholic semblances of what they never had... memories he treasures, bitter as they are. Then, he sees him, standing right in front of Altaïr's statue, just like he did what seems like an eternity ago, ethereal and unchanged. An unadulterated ghost. _

 

_Lips part, sounds fighting to slide past them to no avail. A sob leaves his lungs instead, eyes stinging with the prickle of unshed tears whilst he stands idly, staring at the floor, frozen to the spot, afraid that if he looks up everything will crumble and he will wake up once more in a hollow world, with no one but himself to bear the sorrow.._

 

_"Thought you'd never come."_

 

_Any remnant of air vanishes from his lungs in that moment. He doesn't know what to say, how to act, he forgot how it is to talk to Desmond... he forgot how it is to see that smug grin he always felt personally offended by, if not utterly annoyed... he forgot... he forgot and it hurts._

 

_"What? Cat got your tongue?"_

 

_And just like that, the ache beating along with his heart fades away and he lifts his head. He is not prepared for the close proximity, only a few inches separating them. Neither is he prepared for the sad smile that greets him. He still can't find his voice._

 

_"Well, I didn't expect to see the day when bright, intelligent, boy wonder Shaun Hastings would be speechless. Being dead has its perks, I guess, eh?"_

 

_That seems to have some effect on his uncooperative brain because it abruptly comes to life, sending electric signals and shocks everywhere with an uncharacteristic lack of coordination aside from causing a waterfall of saline liquid to fall from his eyes as replies with his usual snarky remarks._

 

_"And **I** never thought I'll ever talk to dead people, and yet here we are." _

 

_He knows everything is an illusion conjured by his suffering soul, but he can't help feeling at peace when Desmond's light laugh fills the imaginary Sanctuary, a hand reaching out to gently cup his cheek in a gesture so unlike the brash yet apparently, most often than not, impassive man. Skin meets skin and it's electrifying, the contrast between bronze and pale as stark as ever. Then, they're kissing, and it's so, so **warm** , arms wrapped around his waist, lips melting into a perfect whole, pouring waves upon waves of unsaid feelings into their harmonious tandem._

 

_Soon, it's over, but he doesn't get the chance to say anything for he is pulled into a tight embrace, puffs of air tickling his neck where Desmond breathes, inhaling his familiar scent. Wrapping his own arms around the younger's back, he grabs on tight, fingers clutching the fabric of Desmond's trademark hoodie._

 

_"I missed you, you know." he finally says._

 

_The barely suppressed whimper is all the answer he needs to know he's not the only one. Oh... how he wishes this was real._

 

_Suddenly, a twinge throbs on the skin of his neck, his ears ring and his vision turns white, hints of gold flickering in void from time to time._

 

◇◇◇

 

The morning rays of sunlight illuminate his form when he wakes up, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, lips tingling with the memory of a kiss that was never meant to be.

 

"Morning, sleepyhead. Ready for the fight?"

 

Although he can't see her yet, pupils still adjusting to the light, he knows it's Rebecca. He tries to summon up his wit, but it seems to have deserted him after that dream. Instead, he opts for a disgruntled yes, hoping to be left alone, at least for a bit longer. No such luck.

 

"Wait, is that a hickey I see on your neck!?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can interpret the end in whatever way you like. I would like to see your theories in the comments.


End file.
